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No. I cannot do that. But I may not have a choice if I go down this route. I curl my fingers into fists.
Felix glances in my direction; his brows furrow. He purses his lips, an adamant look on his face. Anger flashes in his eyes. He’s pissed off at me. I would be, too, if I were in his shoes.
As for her? Her gaze is wary, a cautious air about her shoulders. She looks from me to Felix, then back at me. She’s gauging us. She’s trying to understand where she stands. What the dynamics of this situation mean for her. It’s why I asked Felix here, after all.
I school my expression into one of disinterest. Even manage a smirk, while my heart seizes in my chest and my pulse crashes against my temples. I can feel my blood pressure shoot up. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My body leans in her direction. The need to walk over and haul her out of that tub, away from Felix, and throw her over my shoulder to carry her up to my room overwhelms me. The need rises to a crescendo, and my vision narrows to pin-points. All I see is her and me and the future we could have had together. The one I might have if… I walk away now.
Do I want her enough to leave? Can I afford not to? I draw on every reserve of energy from deep within, tear my gaze from her, then I turn and stalk off.
I hear a splash behind me as she jumps out of the hot tub. "Quentin, wait!"
24
Vivian
I felt that piercing blue gaze alight on my body when I stepped into the tub. Saw the conflict in the angle of his jaw, in the jut of his chin, in how he looked between Felix and me before he squared his shoulders and came to some kind of decision. The hair on the back of my neck rose. Without conscious decision, I straightened. He’d already turned and stalked off by then.
I call after him, but he doesn’t stop. I follow him through the conservatory, knowing I'm dripping water on the wooden floor but not caring. "Quentin, please!" I trail him into the living room and to the bar in the far corner. He uncaps a decanter of whiskey, pours himself a glass, and tosses it back. By the time I reach him, he’s downed a second glass and has poured himself a third. I place my palm on the snifter. "You’ve had enough."
"Don’t dictate to me, woman." He squeezes his fingers around the glass with such force that the skin across his knuckles turns white. He glares at me with so much anger, so much conflict, so much of everything, I reel back.
Then he looks away, and when he glances at me again, all that emotion is gone. It’s replaced by that familiar mask of indifference, which is worse.
"Don’t do that,” I beg him. “Don’t hide behind that mask of indifference. Tell me you’re jealous. Tell him you want me. Tell me what you’re feeling. Talk to me, Q, please!”
He lowers his gaze to my palm which covers his glass, then back to my face. There’s enough steeliness in his eyes that I find myself withdrawing my hand. He instantly throws back his third drink, then places his glass back on the bar with exaggerated care.
"So that’s your plan? To get drunk."
"It’s as good as any."
What the—! This macho alpha male who’s dominant enough that if he asked me to drop to my knees right now and suck him off I would; that man doesn’t have the balls to face his own feelings? Well too bad, I'm going to make him.
"Thought you were a fighter, not a quitter.” I throw that out to get a rise out of him. Not that it works, for his expression closes further.
"Not sure what you’re talking about," he says in a tone that has icicles dripping from it.
Gah! I’m so frustrated, I want to stamp my foot, but that’d only feed into the impression that I’m much younger than him and immature, so I settle for firming my lips. "I’m talking about the fact you saw me with Felix, assumed the worst, and stalked out."
"I saw you with your ex—someone who, clearly, has feelings for you."
"I—" I hesitate, unsure how to explain that I, too, have feelings for Felix, but they're not the kind he thinks. I feel a responsibility for him. The kind that had me stepping into my mother’s shoes after she passed away. The kind that has me wanting to take care of Lizzie and ensure my father’s medical needs are met. The kind that makes me look into his eyes and discern the hurt lurking there.
"Quentin—" I begin again, but he holds up his hand.
"What I saw out there, between the two of you… There’s unsettled business."
"Ya think?" I scoff. "We were best friends. It’s a little difficult to forget that we were there for each other when we felt we had no one else in the world to depend on."
He winces. And I shouldn’t feel sorry for him. I shouldn’t feel so drawn to him, so empathetic, so understanding that he couldn’t have had it easy after Felix’s mother left, trying to bring up a son on his own while trying to keep his promise to his country in terms of his service career. There’s also the fact that he saw the opportunity when Felix walked away from me and moved right in. All of it shows he doesn’t care about societal rules. He goes after what he wants. So why… is there conflict on his features?
"I… I didn’t mean to hurt you with my words,” I murmur.
"You didn’t. You were telling the truth. I failed him… And now, I'm going to fail him again.”
I open, then shut my mouth. I’m not sure if I can say anything to help the situation. It’s best I let him speak.
